Hwang Sok-yong - Princess Bari

Tell us the meaning of our deaths!

The little-girl voice bursts out of me again: The gods grieve for the hopelessness you feel. They cannot help you with your despair.

The woman in the burqa murmurs through the fabric covering her face: And what about the meaning of my death?

I look at these phantoms, and for the first time I cry as if my heart is breaking.

Men covered you up. Then outsiders said you had to take off your veils in order to be free, while your own men said you had to keep them on in order to maintain control at home. Your faces are the ones the gods grieve for the most.

The black ship vanishes like a soap bubble bursting. The last ship floats toward me, silent as death, without the slightest sign of movement on deck, as if there are no torches, no light, nor even a single passenger. Then the silence is broken by whispers of laughter, and I can see the officials who tore my family apart on board, along with the men who betrayed my sister Mi, the loan sharks of Dalian, the snakeheads, the brothel owner.

And Xiang. She leans over the side, pushing her skinny face with its protruding cheekbones toward me as she shouts: Everyone you hate the most is here. When will we be set free?

The child’s voice comes out of me again: Mama is the one who’s bound. When she is free of her hatred, you too will be free.

The ship slips past and slowly recedes. I sob in the little-girl voice: Poor Mama … Poor Mama …

At last, I realize that Hurriyah Suni has been inside of me, sailing with me the whole time. The black ship vanishes into the dark.

The old Korean boat I am on crosses the sea of blood. I pull the final spirit flower from my heavy, aching chest and toss it into the air. It hisses like the fuse on a firecracker and explodes, sending thousands, tens of thousands of petals through the air. They turn into bright light and illuminate sky and sea. Countless souls rise out of the water and turn into specks of light. They float up into the sky and unite. The sea of blood becomes a blue ocean, and instantly, the blue stretches all the way out to where the sea of fire begins.

*

For the nearly fifteen days that I spent locked in my room, barely moving, time seemed to stand still. After one long continuous dream, I had other choppy, disconnected dreams. Their plots all intertwined. I remembered the visions and scenes from those dreams in such a way that I could have described them to anyone later with perfect consistency.

I sipped water and occasionally ate soup that Luna made for me — it was a more intense fast than at Ramadan. Grandfather Abdul had stopped by several times to check on me initially, but he must have decided that I needed some space. Every now and then I heard his footsteps on the stairs. They would grow softer the closer he got to my door, but then after a brief pause I would hear him tiptoe away again.

One morning, I got up and took a warm bath and then prepared breakfast. I took the food upstairs to Grandfather Abdul’s flat, and we ate our first hearty breakfast together in a long time. He smiled at me and watched my every move, but didn’t say anything until we were sipping tea afterward.

“I know it took some time, but I can’t tell you how good it is to see that you’ve finally sent Hurriyah to God. Thank you for getting through it.”

“I think she’s still with me.”

Grandfather Abdul was quiet for a moment, then nodded.

“If that’s what you want to believe,” he said. “But at some point you’ll have to let her go. All souls begin new lives after death.”

“Grandfather, how wonderful would it be if there were a water of life that could save the world? If only I could find it …”

He looked at me, his gaze soft, and waited for me to continue.

“I had this long, long dream that went on for several days. A dream in which I was searching for a life-giving water.”

He took my hand gently and stroked it.

“I don’t know what this life-giving water is that you were hoping for, but we have to weep for each other in order to save ourselves. No matter what awful things we go through, we cannot abandon hope in the world or in others.”

I went back to work at Tongking. Everyone was happy to see me. Around the same time, I got a phone call from Uncle Lou. He said he was sorry to be the one to tell me the news.

“Xiang jumped out of a window. She must’ve been on something.”

After his call, I went into the break room and sat by myself. One of the scenes from the dream came back faintly. I pictured Xiang asking me when I would set her free. I sat there quietly with my face directed at the ceiling, until the tears rolled off my chin. I wasn’t crying from sadness, but from shame. A truly unbearable surge of regret washed over me. I’d been so exhausted with looking after myself that I’d never once gone to see her or even thought of trying to help her. And I’d hated her so much for Suni’s death.

*

The following spring, a new war began, in Iraq. On top of that, news reporters kept saying that war would soon break out in Korea as well. One day, I happened to see a television documentary about the famine I’d experienced long ago in the North. There were scenes of war and other terrible images, but of course not a word was said about the countless souls and spirits I’d met on my journey. Everyone gaped at the television screen like they were watching a fireworks display. And they ate and they drank and they talked and talked.

I hadn’t been to see Lady Emily in ages, and she hadn’t requested any house calls from me in some time. I finally did go to see her, because of some news I’d received from Leeds. Grandfather Abdul had gotten a call from Ali’s father. He said a government official had come to their house asking about Ali and Usman, and wanted to know when they’d left for Pakistan, where they were headed, whether there had been any contact from Usman afterward and whether or not it was certain that Ali had gone there in search of his brother. Before the official left their house, he’d told Ali’s father: Your son is alive, but not free.

“I knew it all along!” I had shouted at Grandfather Abdul. “I knew he was still alive!” I’d felt strongly from the beginning that he was alive somewhere, and in pain.

Lady Emily’s life had changed completely since she’d started raising her deceased husband’s child. The house was nothing like what it used to be: All the curtains were open wide, and every vase and flowerpot was brimming with succulent green leaves and blossoms. Even the staircase, which had always been dark before, now had sunlight streaming down on it from the windows. I heard the baby fussing and crawling around. Lady Emily greeted me in the parlour downstairs. She was wearing a brightly coloured dress, and had even done her makeup.

“Bari, how have you been? I almost didn’t get to see you. We’re moving out to the country soon. This house will be empty for a while.”

She filled me in on everything that had happened since I had last seen her. “I went to see Anthony’s mother in jail. I also set her up with a lawyer.”

I told her calmly about the things that had happened to me as well. Her eyes reddened, and she held my hand and said, “oh no!” and “you poor thing” as she comforted me. I told her the latest news about Ali, and even before I could ask for her help, she said: “I’ll find out where he is. There’s not much else I can do, but I can at least do that.”

I stood up and bowed to her. “That’s why I came. I just … want to know where he is.”

After that, things were quiet for a while. Then Auntie Sarah came to find me at Tongking. She took me out to a café.